


Matoro is Home

by Scampercat101



Category: Bionicle - All Media Types
Genre: Happy Ending, Matoro has been through A LOT, Olmak shenanigans, Other, Panic attack and mental breakdown decades or even centuries in the making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scampercat101/pseuds/Scampercat101
Summary: Based on ghost-mantis’ “Homecoming” blurb on Tumblr, posted with their permission. Someone with a familiar face arrives in New Atero, and feels he is finally home.





	Matoro is Home

His right leg drags with every step. His once-hunched back pops with every movement, now twisted in a painful mockery of his old, oceanic form. Every inch of him is scarred, every part of his armor dented or rusted, and his breath is pained and rough, like he hasn't had a drink of water in years.

The sheer amount of _life_ around him is overwhelming, even on this dusty desert plain, and his eyes are darting everywhere, as if he doesn't want to try to focus on details for too long and wake up from this dream, this paradise. Because that's what he is certain this must all be; a dream, from which he will wake up and once more see that not-quite-night, not-quite-day, the utter _nothing_ that his failure turned the world into. He knows he'll see that single pale, white star, alone in the skies, taunting him. His star... the only one still shining.

The old, weathered mask in his hands was one he found by chance, and he has since used it to try to escape, time after time. Each world he arrived in seemed worse than the last, though none were as bad as that void, the void where his star waits in the empty sky. Each escape was narrower, the injuries piling upon his body.

The Olmak becomes too hot, cooked in the sun's light, and he shifts his grip, tracing the dents and scratches with his fingers. It's become a coping mechanism by now. Each dent and scratch is counted, and he uses them like a calendar, remembering the number there were in each world and keeping events laid out in his mind based on that number.

A farmer's cart rolls by him and he freezes to watch the cheerful energy of the Ussal pulling it and the lack of worry the farmer has, the latter having halfway dozed off. Part of him says he should grab onto the cart rail, hitch a ride and ease the burden on his leg, but he doesn't dare. He is certain that if he reaches out and touches anything, he will shatter this world like glass.

He sees the open gates of the vast city before him, and cautiously heads towards them. Before he knows it, there is a throng of other travelers around him on the road. They laugh. They call out to each other. They whistle old songs of their craft. He draws his shoulders in, head hidden by his tattered cloak, and remains silent.

The architecture in this world is both familiar and foreign; it mixes the architecture of his old home with something he cannot recognize. He sees glimpses of Matoran he knows in the crowd, but they do not notice him, and he decides it is safest that they don't. He knows not if he has ever existed in this universe, much less how he is regarded. Even when Kopeke walks past, right in front of him, he restrains the urge to call out to his old friend.

He sees the Colosseum ahead in the distance, and feels drawn to it. He knows not why. If nothing else, perhaps it will provide some shade where the crowd won't be packed like Ruki in a bucket. Just as the shadow of the immense structure covers him, he sees a Toa of Jungle and a Toa of Iron ahead, and their conversation drifts towards him.

"Last-minute's a gross understatement. Couldn't they have called on one of the Mahri?"

"The Mahri are always given lessened workloads this month of the year. You _know_ why. It would be cruel to have them guard it during the month when it took him away from them."

"I still don't get why they had to pick _you_ to fill in. You already did a week-long shift two weeks ago."

"Well, they picked me, and that's that. Someone's gotta guard the Ignika, after all."

That name is like an electric bolt to his heart. He thought he had managed to finally escape to someplace where there was never an Ignika, where the mask would be unable to take from him again, the way it had taken more than he and his team could ever give and left him to wither alone in a dead world. But no, it's still following him, trying to latch on and drain away whatever part of him is left.

Within a moment of hearing the mask's name, he lurches backwards as if slapped, colliding with a number of crates as he scrambles backward into a corner. His whole body is spasming, and he claws the ground for his Olmak, finds it, brings it onto his face and tries to escape. But the mask is empty; it can no longer open any rift, and he is left to panic in a corner, the crowd gathering to watch as he begins to ramble incoherently.

"No, no, I won't let it... there is nothing left for it to take, doesn't it see, doesn't it... We gave all we could but that wasn't enough...!"

Some healers try to reach out and calm him, but the moment their hands touch his arms,he yells in fear and lurches out of their reach as best he can. To Toa of Psionics and wearers of Masks of Telepathy, his thoughts are ringing out as loud as gunshots or fireworks, and it's drawing quite a lot of attention. Onlookers murmur amongst themselves, speculating on who this stranger could possibly be.

"We were all so tired, so injured, broken limbs, breathing was painful even with gills... The currents, they made us collide with the rocks, the island, we hit our heads and couldn't see straight, couldn't swim straight, were too late...!"

He sees more of the crowd approaching and backs away again, bumping into a parked cart of books and causing some of its contents to topple out. One book falls open on the ground before him, and his eyes fix fearfully on the image it opens to show, a golden mask that he has been fleeing ever since he found the Olmak. He flattens his back to the wall, breathing at a frantic pace. His fear of the image is so intense that he isn't even blinking.

"Please, we did all we could... why did you have to kill them... why didn't you kill me too... I'm tired... so tired... I never... never asked for this..."

An incomplete Toa team, following the crowd and the navigation of the telepathy-user among them, chooses that moment to push their way to the front. When they see him sitting there, they are thunderstruck.

They carefully move closer, and the leader kneels in front of him. The useless Olmak is carefully pried out of his hand and cast aside. The rest of the group are crowded around, watching in case they have a chance to help.

The red-and-gold Toa reaches out with one hand and steadily grasps one of the icy-blue, trembling hands before him, remaining still and calm, providing a constant, reassuring pressure. Though he seems incapable of seeing the world around him, the former Captain of the Guardknows his friend has been guided out of such darkness before, by the hand of one of the team. As he waits, he murmurs in what he hopes to be a soothing tone, "Matoro, you're safe... You're _safe_..."

Matoro blinks, once, twice, thrice, the scarred and tattered eyelids catching on each other each time he opens them again. He looks up and sees Jaller for the first time. He turns his head to look around and sees the rest of the team, all of them watching in concern. The little corner has fallen silent. Matoro's previous ramblings and panicked yells are gone. Looking back at the fire Toa, he reaches out in uncertainty towards his Kanohi Calix. When it fidgets of its own volition at the contact, his eyes widen, seemingly having confirmed something.

It almost seems like a segment of time distorts, for in the blink of an eye, Matoro has lurched forward to embrace Jaller, face buried in his chest. His shoulders shake, and the team as a whole realize that their friend is crying. With how his sobs wrack his body, it's clear that he's had a lot of stress held back all this time, through whatever might have happened to him.

The others are gathering closer to comfort Matoro as well, resting reassuring hands on his back or shoulders and letting him know they're not leaving any time soon. The Olmak has been set aside, no longer needed, and the book that caused their friend such panic has been put back in the cart. In the quiet that falls over the group, they hear his voice, muffled and tight-throated. "I'm _sorry_... I'm... I'm _sorry_... It's my fault... all my fault..."

"No, Matoro, you have nothing to be sorry for. It's alright. We're all here. You said it yourself - you did all you could. You're safe now, okay?" Jaller murmurs.

Matoro's breath takes an hour to even out, during which the entire team refuses to leave. When one of the healers comes over to check on the group, they quietly request that a stretcher be brought over; Matoro's injuries are severe, and they refuse to lose him a second time. His body is so emaciated that it takes no effort to lift him onto the stretcher, and he is more than happy to fall asleep as they bring him into the nearest hospital.

His recovery period starts as weeks, then weeks roll into months as they discover more complications hidden under the problems they fix. The team makes sure to be there for him each time, sitting in the waiting room through each surgery, waiting by his bed for him to wake up afterward, helping him with therapy exercises and cheering him on, listening thoughtfully to his nightmares and his painful memories as he recounts them to alleviate some of the pain they bring.

There are visits from others, Nuju first of all. The Turaga immediately recognizes that Matoro cannot bend to hug him, the state of his spine tentative during that recovery from its first surgery. Instead, the Turaga lifts himself with his mask power - a feat he always struggled with as a Turaga, but which is no trouble for as great a purpose as this - to embrace the Toa himself. Later, the Toa Nuva and Toa Hagah all bring their well-wishes, with Kopaka making a dry remark that manages to elicit a chuckle from Matoro, and Kualus glad he can finally meet Nuju's assistant-turned-Toa. They are followed promptly by Kopeke, who is determined to make sure that his friend catches up on everything that has happened and lugs an immense history book through the hospital with him. 

The Turaga make sure he is permanently exempt from the rotating list of those who they may assign to guard the Ignika. As time passes, he is no longer so easily sent into a panic by the mere thought or mention of the mask, but he still stays far from the Colosseum and the chamber where it is kept and guarded.

Finally, five years after he begins his recovery, he finds himself walking down that same road that he first took in this seemingly impossible happy ending. His head is held high this time, and when he sees familiar faces in the crowd, he is no longer afraid to greet them. Jaller and Hahli are matching his pace to either side of him. His limp is barely noticeable, his shoulders straightened. He is headed to the same building as he was that confusing day, but with a goal emblazoned in his mind.

They reach the entry to the passageway, and the two Toa standing guard seem incredibly surprised to see him. Their surprise is unnoticed, as Jaller puts a steadying hand on Matoro's shoulder and asks, "Are you certain about this? You know you don't have to if..."

"I... I do need to do this. For my own sake..."

Jaller gives a small smile, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Just remember... no matter what happens... we're proud of you. All of us are."

Matoro nods, and makes his way into the guarded chamber.

At first everything is quiet, the noise of the road fading into a distorted murmur, then to the faintest whisper, then to nothing. Then there comes a feeling that is like a noise yet not one at all; it's as if he is heading down the steps into a heated swimming pool, a warm _thrumming_ faintly registering in his heartlight and swelling over it from bottom to top. Lightstones have become more scant as the passage continues, a golden glow emitting faintly but steadily from the chamber at the end. He keeps his eyes closed and a hand on the wall, focusing on his breathing, until the wall slopes away and he knows the chamber is upon him.

Gathering his courage, he opens his eyes.

There it is, floating about half a handspan above its pedestal. It is motionless, dormant.

_Does it even know I'm here? Does... does he know?_

He realizes with a start that he's not alone with the mask. A female Glatorian, helm and armor a color somewhere between leaden grey and navy blue, is sitting on one of the benches. She's staring at him in confusion.

He sits down on the other bench, avoiding her gaze. The mask still shows no sign that it has noticed him. His shoulders are tense, but soon he feels them loosening as time passes with no change - or, as his instincts decree, no attack.

The Glatorian suddenly pipes up. "You're the Toa who put the mask on to save him... Matoro, right?"

He is silent as he ponders. "...no and yes," he finally concedes. "I _am_ Matoro. Matoro _is_ the Toa who put on the Ignika and gave his own life. But _I_ am _not_ the Toa who had the chance to make that sacrifice."

The silence resumes as she takes her own turn to consider this info. She seems to line it all up in her mind, because she continues the conversation on a different, though somewhat related, train of thought. "You'd think Mata Nui would be up and about. I mean, he already stayed dormant in his mask for years, and now he's just zonked back out again." It's clear she's attempting to add humor to the tense situation.

He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying, _Better alive and asleep than dead and leaving behind an empty world._ Instead, he nods, and fixes his gaze upon the Ignika. He cannot help but wonder about the Matoro that is honored with the statue in the square, who used his last thoughts to save his friends instead of seeing them killed before his eyes. Does he, like the Great Spirit, rest inside the mask? Does he have the chance to see the happiness and peace he has brought?

The room suddenly brightens, and the two in the room look up as the Ignika glows gold. Two masses of golden light are condensing, seeming to drip out of the mask like sticky globs of honey escaping a cracked jar. Matoro's hand flies to the hilt of his sword, alarmed and near-certain that he somehow invoked the mask's wrath, but the Glatorian holds out a hand to calm him, a small smile on her face. The light begins to morph into two forms - for one, the shade of gold deepens as the figure stretches and yawns and rubs his eyes, clearly still drowsy from his rest. The other is only half as drowsy, making sure to yawn and shake his foggy head as his light pales to near-white, but shows some impatience as he uses his arms to boost the rest of him out of the mask.

The golden figure's gaze dances from Matoro to the pale figure, and it takes a minute or so for the ice Toa to realize who he has an audience with. Part of him feels as if he should bow, but before he can, a calm voice echoes inside his head. _There's no need for that. You were willing to give up your life to save mine, whether given the chance or not; if anything, I should bow to you._

Before he can muster a reply, his own voice seems to act of its own volition - but it's not the voice of _this_ him. _Takes a while to process who he actually is, doesn't it?_ The pale figure turns to face his counterpart, and Matoro sees his own eyes staring back at him as the spirit notes his thunderstruck expression. _Trust me, you're not the only one who got caught off-guard by him._

Matoro feels a bit ashamed now - not due to his reaction, but due to the fact that this other-him is likely aware of his failure, and of the fact that he seems to be almost a _replacement_ for him. His gaze drops, and he stays silent.

 _There's no need to think like that._ The voice almost seems to have a tinge of reprimand laced through it, but it's a worried one, like a parent upset about a child doubting and demeaning themselves.

Matoro lifts his head and looks at the other-him. "But it's true, isn't it? You're the hero. The one who didn't fail. You... you saved everyone. But I couldn't even save my team..."

 _It wasn't_ you _that made things go wrong, though._ The other-him crosses his glowing arms and holds his gaze, making sure he gets his point. _Every single situation we both went through, we made the same choices. You were willing to give up your life as you descended through the Cord. Every battle was the same. It was only a matter of a single, coincidental change - part of Voya Nui breaking off and colliding with you, hindering you. You were never at fault._

The uncertain Toa frowns, still not entirely reassured. "Either way... it still feels like I'm a replacement... and that doesn't... feel _right_."

 _You're not a replacement, so don't worry about it. The team still keeps both of us in mind._ The spirit gestures at the room around them. _Who do you think keeps the bench and chamber so clean? They visit almost weekly to check on me and tell me what's going on in the world._ His eyes crinkle in a smile. _It’s eased my worries to see them so happy, to hear the team feels complete again._

The living Toa takes in the information thoughtfully. “But... wouldn’t they be happier with you?”

 _To them, we are nearly one and the same. They know I’ve accepted my fate. And whether I come back or not someday, they know you need people to support you - a family._ The spirit pokes his chest. _They want to help you, to be there for you. Because you possess the same spirit who was their friend, their brother in arms... and perhaps even more... to them._ He suddenly perks up. _They’re getting uneasy up there, worried for you. Go to them. Live the life fate tried to deny you. They need you as much as you need them. Jaller and Hahli are actually pacing up there, about to charge in._

Matoro hesitates, then smiles, getting to his feet. “Al... alright... I’ll come back to visit, though. I promise. Maybe even with them in tow. Would that be okay?”

 _Fine by me!_ The spirit yawns and seems to halfway sink into the mask. _I’d best get back to my resting. Took a fair bit of my energy to come out here. Tell them I said hello?_

“O-of course.” The ice Toa watches the two forms sink back into the mask, until he is alone in the chamber, save for the Glatorian. He gives her a polite nod before ascending the staircase again, to reunite with his companions above.

Immediately he is embraced in arms of red and blue, Jaller and Hahli refusing to let him out of their sights again any time soon.

“Are you alright?”

“You were down there for a while, we were starting to worry...”

“I’m fine. I’m even better than when I first headed down, in fact.” He smiles. “Your old friend wanted me to let you know he says hello.”


End file.
